Survive
by Thursday's Dove
Summary: You get up, you brush yourself off, and you do what you do best - you survive. After a narrow escape from GLaDOS, Chell makes a decision that will change her entire life. Rated M for adult content. Also, this is a working title & summary - I may update it later.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, everyone! Okay, this is my first Portal fanfic and I have to admit I am a bit nervous about posting it. There are so, so many wonderful fics out there already and I can only hope that mine comes out all right too. I really appreciate anyone who takes the time to read this and I hope you enjoy! That said, I am planning on three chapters, and as a fair warning, I have a full time job and I am a mom, so I don't always have a lot of free time to write.**

**Before we go on, I just wanted to say that in this fic, Wheatley is not a core - he is at least part android. I didn't feel this fic warranted any in-depth exploration into that alternative. Basically, in my mind where this fic is concerned, he is part android, like his body was modified so he could live forever making stupid decisions around Aperture. :P**

**Anyway, onto the story. Thank you again for reading! :3**

* * *

The elevator shuddered to a halt and together Chell and Wheatley stepped off, Wheatley with just a bit more spring in his step than his human counterpart. Of course he had much more energy than she did - he was part android, after all, and did not suffer from the same sort of physical exhaustion and ailments that humans did. With this gift of energy, he bounded into the small annex hallway that connected the area of the facility they had just fled to the deeper parts where _She_ would not be able to reach them. As he did so, he turned back around to face Chell and was positively beaming at her. In spite of herself, and in spite of the danger of the situation, she felt her heart warm over at his sunny gaze.

"Did you see that? Trying to bring the whole place down on us like that? Mental! And you," he said, still huffing from their run, but able to produce a cheerful grin nonetheless, "Jumping around like a veritable superwoman. Bam! Right over the broken catwalk. Swoosh! Under that falling steel beam! It was more like you were competing in the Olympics than running for your life. Seriously though, luv, you are well and truly amazing, truly spectacular to have made it through all of those testing chambers. Not like I could have ever made it through that far, let's be honest, me not being built for it like you and all, but-... What?"

Chell had reached out and grabbed onto his sleeve, halting him before he came within range of the door to where it would have opened for them. He stood there, taking in a breath and blinking at her. She realized she must have been giving him a look that was foreign to him, because he tilted his head to the side and continued to blink at her, uncomprehending.

"What's the problem, luv?" he queried, head still tilted like a confused dog of some sort. When she gave no reply, for she was feeling strangely confused herself, he prompted, "You know, I may be quite clever, but I can't _actually _read your mind..." Something appeared to have suddenly dawned on him, because she could visibly see the lights coming on upstairs, one by one, "Is it- oh, are you tired? Ah, you must be, after all that running, jumping around, avoiding almost certain death - not to mention, none of that adrenal vapor stuff back here. Do you need to have a bit of a lie-down? Is that it?"

The answer was yes, she did need to rest, but that was not what she was trying to communicate to him. By putting her left hand over her heart and tipping her head forward slightly, she was trying to thank him for helping her - for everything he had done for her-...

"Sorry, are you having a heart attack or something...?"

...-but obviously she was failing at it.

Chell herself had to admit that she wasn't entirely sure what was going through her head when she did what she did next. Perhaps it was the adrenaline; perhaps it was the feeling of simply being _alive_; perhaps it the was pure, undiluted gratitude she felt flooding through her at the fact that her clumsy friend had delivered on his promise to break her out of testing; perhaps it was even a little bit of attraction. Whatever it was, Chell found herself giving him a small smile, which he returned at once.

"Oh, there's a girl, smiling, that's more like it, much better than that frowny face you're always making. Not that there is anything wrong with frowning, of course, if that's what you prefer. You do you. But- why are you smiling if you're having a heart atta-.."

And then in one swift motion, Chell suddenly moved herself closer to him, pulled him down, and pressed her lips against his, effectively cutting him off from his rambling. He made a muffled noise of surprise, his eyes popping wide open for a moment, before he let out a soft, contented sigh and his eyes fell shut. She had never kissed anyone before, and apparently neither had he, because they were both quite sloppy at it. But that did not turn either of them away, as after a few moments of learning how each responded, they both adjusted accordingly. His arms, seemingly of their own accord, snapped closed around her waist, subtly pulling her closer.

Chell was so lost in all the sensations going on, feeling how her body was reacting to his, without stopping to think exactly what she was doing, she began tugging at his clothes.

"Um, luv," Wheatley suddenly spoke up, breaking their kiss, and staring wide-eyed at her. Chell could see that his pupils were blown wide open, so that only a thin ring of blue was visible. "What exact-.. Tell me what exactly it is we're doing here, please? Well, I mean, it does seem fairly obvious, but... well, you have got brain damage, haven't you? Did our grand escape back there knock even more things loose up in there?"

Chell, put out, pushed out an annoyed sigh and quirked an eyebrow at him. She really needed him to stop talking and over-analyzing everything right now.

"Do _I_ want to do this? Well, yeah, I mean what guy wouldn't, right? Beautiful girl, brain damage or not. What guy wouldn't want to stop in the middle of escaping to-.. to-... ummmm..." he trailed off as she started to pull off her own shirt and tossed it aside. "Okay," he said as he stared openly at her, "You win."

Both were soon completely divested of all their clothing - save Wheatley's glasses, which still bore a large crack down the middle of the right lens from his run-in with _her._ Funny how, presumably, the nanobots had done such an exemplary job repairing him, but had not repaired his glasses or the involuntary twitch he had had ever since the incident. Or not funny - Chell still felt immensely guilty about what had happened to him and remembered the sheer relief she felt at seeing that he was overall okay, a feeling which only seemed to add fuel to her sudden fire.

"Sh-Should I take these off or leave them on?" he stammered, twisting his glasses in his hands.

It was somewhat amusing to watch him squirm around, as if he could never quite get comfortable in his skin, but she realized this was because he must be constantly feeling more anxiety over everything than he was willing to admit. She had only known him for such a short period of time, but already she realized how insecure he was about everything - especially himself. He tried so hard to hide it behind his constant hundred-watt smiles, off-handed dry humor, and puffing himself up, like he knew more than he really did, but Chell could see right through it. She wished she knew how to comfort him, as he tried so hard to do for her (even if he was not very good at it sometimes), and the only way she knew how to express this was to do something to make him not feel singled out or alone - the same way he did this for her in her times of need.

Smiling, Chell took his glasses from him and set them alongside her portal gun. She gradually coaxed him into a position where he was sitting, leaning back against the wall, and she was kneeling over him, straddling him. Their clothing she was using as padding for them, to create some kind of barrier between them and the cold floor.

Wheatley visibly swallowed, his eyes darting here and there, looking everywhere but at her face. "Is-.. are you, are you sure about this, luv?"

Chell nodded. But it apparently wasn't enough of an answer for him.

"Seriously this time - are you _really really_ sure about this? I mean, the brain damage and all, I certainly don't want to be _that guy_, and- ahhhh..."

His sentence clipped off with a breathy groan as she grasped him in her hands and positioned him at her entrance. Whatever reservations he might have had went right out the window, cast even more aside as she felt his hands on her hips, helping guide her down onto his waiting erection.

The moment they united, Chell's face scrunched up in discomfort. Wheatley did not see this because his eyes had rolled back into his head. He seemed to be struggling to breathe and was biting down hard on his lip. Chell, on the other hand, felt a pinching sensation and the feeling of being invaded. She was terribly sore from the whole ordeal, but no more sore than the rest of her felt, and it was not bad enough that she wanted to stop.

Meanwhile, Wheatley seemed completely oblivious to her discomfort at first, until he opened his eyes - then he noticed that she was sitting rather stiffly. He tentatively asked if she was okay and after she nodded and collected herself, she lifted herself off him slightly before sliding back down gently. Wheatley let out another moan and then seemed to catch himself, appearing to be embarrassed by the noise. This struck her as a bit uncharacteristic of him, but then it also seemed somehow endearing that the one time he would be shy about speaking or making noise would be during such an intimate moment. It made their spontaneous coupling all the more bittersweet, considering the conditions that had driven them into each other's arms.

It did not last long. Not that she had been keeping track, because she herself had been too wound up in all the new sensations going on, but if Chell had to hazard a guess, she would have said that it had lasted less than a minute. Maybe thirty seconds, give or take. It seemed they had barely started before Wheatley was stiffening and then shuddering in bliss, grasping her hips tightly and holding her in place while he finished inside of her. She could feel the warmth of his release coating her insides in a way that was pleasant while she briefly marveled at the fact that he was actually able to fully perform that particular male function.

When it was done, he let out a heavy breath and held her tightly against himself, turning his head to the side and resting it against her chest. He sat there for several long moments, cradling her in his lap, listening to her heart, trying to catch his breath.

And then, all at once, he was blushing and frantically apologizing to her, admitting to her that that had been his first time and that he had no idea what to expect, no idea that it was going to feel so good, and he couldn't help himself. Chell gave him a small smile, still feeling herself wanting but also understanding. Either way, she had gotten her point across. She climbed off his lap, wincing at the feeling of him slipping out of her. He just sat there, looking up at the ceiling, dazed. Chell felt similarly dazed, but she was better at hiding it. She had just lost - well, given - her virginity, and to a man who was more or less an android. And while on the run.

Something about the whole situation must have struck Wheatley as hilarious - perhaps his thoughts had taken a similar path - because he suddenly started laughing. Chell shot him a questioning gaze, which prompted him to explain that he was laughing at the absurdity of their situation, but paradoxically how it was also wonderful to be here like this with her.

"Does that make me mental?" he asked, exchanging a warm, but mildly anxious, look with her. Chell shook her head. His eyes flickered to her lips before he leaned in and gave her a soft kiss, their lips moving slowly in tandem with one another.

Chell could still feel an unresolved tension in her loins, but she decided to let it be for now. Her body was demanding rest. Reluctantly, she stood to begin re-ardorning her garments, feeling the copious amount of fluid on her inner thighs beginning to cool and dry into a sticky mess. Apparently she was not the only one who noticed, because Wheatley began to apologize for said mess before she shrugged. It truthfully did not feel any more or less gross than all the other stuff from around the facility that was no doubt on her.

Soon after they both had redressed, Wheatley offered his lap for her to use as a more comfortable surface to rest her weary head. Smiling at him, she took him up on his offer. She quickly fell asleep to the feel of his fingers running through her hair while he remained awake, watching over her.

* * *

Their next coupling took place shortly after they sabotaged the turret production line, and this time Wheatley was determined to help figure her out before she had her way with him. When she moved to take him into her body once more, he grinned at her and instructed her to lie back. With his clever fingers, he probed around gingerly - poking here, stroking there - until he learned what apparently was the right combination to bring her to a state of ecstasy. As she was coming down from her high, she heard him chuckle and make a joke about how he had properly "hacked" her. She, still feeling a bit euphoric and feeling an overwhelming sense of affection for this goofy partner of hers, pushed him back onto the floor and climbed astride him. The action knocked the laughter right out of him and soon it dissolved into those pleased sounds he seemed to want to make but struggled to conceal.

At some point he gave up trying to keep quiet and let slip several gasps and moans, letting out a particularly loud sound as he was finishing. Afterwards, he flopped back bonelessly, a large stupid grin painted across his face. His hands were warmly stroking her thighs, sending shivers through her and almost heating her up all over again. He opened his eyes and gazed up at her in pure adoration, his eyes fairly glowing in the soft ambient lighting. They seemed to hold within them a number of emotions - more human than any mechanical being had any right to be and again making her marvel at how remarkable he really was - but Chell couldn't fully sort them all out and decided it was a look of utter contentment. She imagined she was giving him a similar look.

They engaged in more slow and languid kissing, simply enjoying the feel of each other's bodies against the other, before having another nap and moving on to their next destination - the neurotoxin generator.

* * *

The third time they made love - and by this point, Chell was beginning to realize that that was what it was, although neither of them referred to it as such - they did so in one of the vacant offices while they were pausing for more rest, although resting is not what they immediately did.

Chell sat perched on the edge of one of the desks - all of the old computer equipment and office paperwork scattered on the floor from being hastily pushed off - her arms and legs wrapped around him, while Wheatley bent over her, one hand pressed against the desk to support his weight and the other wrapped around her waist and aiding in the motion of her hips, while his own were working firmly and rhythmically against hers. It seemed by this time he had gotten the hang of things, because Chell could feel herself soaring to much greater heights than before. He pressed his forehead against hers, his short huffs and gasps landing hotly against her face and spurring them both on, onward towards their shared completion.

As she was beginning to come undone, Chell grabbed a fistful of his messy blond hair, made even messier by their lovemaking, and roughly brought him in for a searing kiss. He moaned heavily against her lips and after they parted, began muttering incoherently, making her smile as he did so. Every so often she could make out the words "god" and "so good", which was funny because she never took Wheatley as one to give any sort of praises to any god - not that she did either - but she realized that had she the ability to speak, she probably would have been muttering similar reverent phrases. At least until she lost all ability to make any sense of anything as the grinding motion from his hips drove her over the edge and into oblivion. His hips stuttered against hers as she pulled him over the edge with her, and together they fell, time and space faltering around them, holding onto each other all the while.

They remained locked together, Wheatley with his face pressed into her shoulder. Chell was no longer able to support their combined weights and gently laid back flat against the desk, taking him with her as she still wrapped tightly around him. As soon as her back touched the cold surface of the desk, her partner-turned-lover began peppering her face and neck with a series of kisses, ending with his lips fully back on hers, kissing her with such heated fervor it was like he could not get enough of her.

It wasn't long before she felt him begin to stir between her legs again and he chuckled against her lips. Apparently he had a quick recovery time, not that Chell knew much about that. He pushed himself back off her, reaching up and lacing his fingers with hers, effectively pinning her against the desk. Chell knew that had she wanted to, she could have easily fought him off, but she decided to humor him as he grinned impishly down at her.

"Fancy a round two?" he chuckled, wriggling his eyebrows at her as he did so, "Or - not that I'm counting or anything - would that be round four?"

Chell's only answer was to return his cheeky grin, push him down into the office chair they had kicked away, roll it back over to the desk in order to use it as leverage, and ride in his lap until he was once again an incoherent mess.

* * *

The next time they coupled was something completely different. Perhaps it was not truly knowing what would await them once they confronted _her_ that had them both taking their time with each other this time. Chell learned that that tongue of Wheatley's could definitely be put to more than one use, a feat which proved that he could learn and prevail at a task more quickly than she was certain anyone would have ever given him credit for. Wheatley, in turn, learned that while his partner could not speak, she most definitely could use her tongue as well. They each took their time exploring the other's body, more so than they had before. For Chell, she was committing every inch of him to memory, and with the way his bright blue gaze was drinking her in, focused on her in a way she had never seen him focus on anything else, she knew he was doing the same.

Once they had finished working each other up with their mouths and could not bear it any longer, Chell laid back and allowed him to mount her, which he did so eagerly. She knew this put him in a position of power over her. Submitting to anyone in any way was not something she normally allowed, but she sensed it fostered in Wheatley a great amount of confidence in himself, knowing that he was in control and that he could draw such wanton responses out of her at his whim, something which he clearly delighted in. But along with this position came a responsibility to care for the other - a vulnerability in and of itself. It was a task he took seriously as he worked hard to bring her to orgasm, twice this time.

It was in the middle of this second crest that Chell swore she heard him say something that made her heart soar so high it was almost painful. She opened her eyes and grabbed the sides of his face, steadying him and making him open his eyes to focus on her. He momentarily slowed down and gazed down at her, his eyes completely clouded over with a haze of pleasure and emotion, chest heaving with labored breaths. He gave her a look, one that was completely open and honest, a look like none other he had ever given her before, like he worshiped her, and repeated himself.

"I have never been more sure of anything in my life," he whispered, leaning down and melding his lips against hers. Chell smiled against his lips and allowed herself to become completely lost in him, lost with him, until nothing mattered more to her than this moment.

Afterwards, as they lay curled up together among their discarded clothing, Wheatley held her in his arms, his face turned into her hair.

"Let's just stay here like this, luv. If - if you want to, we could just call it quits and we could just sit here - forever." he breathed, his hot breath tickling her almost as much as the memory of how he had said the same thing not too long ago, although now it had taken on an entirely different tone and meaning.

"Just you and me," he continued while tracing random patterns along her arm, "And- well, and crap turrets and some birds, maybe some bugs and rats here and there, and whatever else might be scurrying around down here, but most importantly, you and me. And no neurotoxin, that's equally important."

Chell smiled softly at his antics and gave him a light shove. When he turned to give her a perplexed look, she opened her mouth and pointed inside it.

"What, do we have any dentists? Why, have you a cavity or something? I can imagine you do after being under as long as you were, but I believe we are fresh out of those, luv."

Chell shook her head and tried again, this time miming taking a bite of something.

"Oh, you mean food. Right, forgot about that... Well, we have a fine selection of potatoes, for one. And I'm sure, for protein, you can have your pick of birds."

Chell frowned.

"Birds' eggs?"

This time she scrunched up her nose.

"No? No, I suppose you're right, that wouldn't be any way for you to live. All right," he said, giving he a quick, affectionate kiss on her forehead, "We'll go with Option B, then. Or I guess Option A, seeing as escaping was actually our first plan-.. Too many Options, you know. Anyway, we'll get out of here. Together. You and me. That sound better?"

At that, Chell nodded.

She lost track of how much time they spent lying there, cuddling and talking about what they would do once they got to the surface - well, with Wheatley doing all of the talking and Chell listening to him in silent contentment - but it over all too soon. They both knew what had to be done, as they had known from the moment Wheatley had broken her out of cryosleep and guided her to the portal gun. They embraced one last time before breaking into the neurotoxin control room and, after some fancy work with portals, successfully taking it offline. They hopped into the tube that would lead them straight to _her_, ready to face the unknown, together.


	2. Chapter 2

No matter how many times Chell recalled the events that occurred during her time in Aperture, she could never sort out if the idea to plug Wheatley into the core transfer receptacle had been his idea or her own. True, Wheatley had been the one to encourage her - in an off-handed, somewhat bossy manner - to initiate the core transfer, but in the end, the decision had been her own.

In either case, that idea had turned out to be one of the worst ideas in the history of bad ideas. Immediately upon gaining control of the facility, the man who had until that very moment been her partner, her friend, and more recently her lover, turned on her, exerting his newfound power to make a number of cruel, false, and hurtful insinuations. The accusation that she had been selfish and had done nothing but boss him around struck her to the point where she admittedly let herself show a rare moment of shock and dismay on her facial expression. She had done so much for him, as he had done so much for her, she just could not understand where this was all coming from.

And of course, the little potato which now acted as a host for the cold and vile AI that had tried to murder her before, had not been able to keep her hypothetical mouth shut and succeeded in getting Wheatley riled up enough to lash out at them. As Chell listened to _her_ throw insults at her friend, she could only watch in helpless horror as he reacted in a manner she would have never expected from the stammering, oddball of a man she had grown so fond of.

Amid the bickering between the two AI's, Chell pressed her hands flat against he glass of the elevator, desperately shaking her head at him, gesturing with her hands for him to forget the sociopathic AI and get into the lift with her, but it was all for nothing. As he raged on, he completely ignored her presence and just about shredded her with glass as he punched his way into the elevator. And then, after that was done, he repeatedly slammed his large metal arm against the top of the lift, over and over, until the entire thing gave way. She could feel herself giving way along with the obliterated lift...

...And then suddenly, she was falling, falling all over again, falling in every possible way a person can fall, both inside and out. Amid the shock of what was happening, she could only revert back to her previous state, before Wheatley had broken her out of testing, and focus on surviving.

Having no way to keep track of time while trying to survive in the depths of Aperture Laboratories, Chell was forced to keep her thoughts and actions as linear as possible. It was something she was an expert at, something she might have taken pride in were it not for the fact that she was in this situation to begin with.

Everything hurt - everything from head to toe, inside and out - but nothing, perhaps, more than the solid, throbbing ache in her chest. The sting of Wheatley's betrayal tore straight through her, to the point where had she not been so good at compartmentalizing her emotions, she might have been unable to continue working towards her goal of escaping. A different person might have given up already, but Chell could never allow herself to give up, not even in the face of such gut-wrenching betrayal.

She fought so hard to puzzle and portal her way through the sections of old Aperture, and when she finally heard his voice again, it called forth so many conflicting emotions, she had to stop momentarily just to listen to him. Through a window, she could see that he was observing what could only be described as the laziest design for a testing chamber she had ever seen - and that meant a lot, considering Chell was used to literally risking her life just to solve a puzzle. He was berating what appeared to be a bunch of macabre renditions of Frankenstein's monster, one or two turrets mashed together with cubes, whose sole purpose was for pushing buttons, according to what she was overhearing. Something about it made her feel sick to her stomach, as it was clear how desperate he was to observe some real testing, but of course she could not have known at that time just how serious the situation was.

When she stepped into the room to solve the puzzle that his horrific creations had failed to solve and he appeared on the screen before her, it was all she could do not to step back and away from him, to not react in any way to his appearance. He looked deranged, exhausted - not at all like that smiling, optimistic man she had known such a short time ago. She immediately felt guiltier about plugging him into the mainframe than she did when he had gotten crushed.

Despite everything she had just been through as a result of his horrific actions - all the portaling through goop that she had learned could make her deathly ill, narrowly avoiding falling into pits of acid, not to mention the ongoing mechanisms throughout the facility that seemed to be bent solely on crushing her - it was the way he greeted her that hurt the most. That off-handed, dismissive, flat tone of his-..

"Oh. Hello."

...-as if they had never shared anything and she was just another insignificant being to happen across his path...

She felt a sharp pinprick of pain within her chest. Then, she squared her shoulders, gave him an unreadable look, and went into the next testing chamber.

As she made her way through one deadly testing chamber after the next, Chell was able to witness the painfully slow and gradual descent of her partner into something far more sinister than his previous off-color comments and accidental rude, insensitive remarks. It was like all of his flaws, all of his negative aspects, had been blown up, put under a microscope and then magnified, emphasized beyond their typical size. He nearly distracted her a number of times with his mixed messages of encouragement and insults, not to mention the sounds of pure ecstasy he made during the first few tests she solved, unwittingly bringing back memories of the more pleasant activities they had shared in. The sounds that he had made just for her, _because_ of her, were now nothing more than a perversion. She truly felt that had he not been watching her every move, she would have thrown up a number of times.

Of course she was not stupid, either. She knew what was happening. Simply put, he was using her. He was using her to get a quick fix, no different than a person stealing or plundering, doing whatever it takes to get a taste of their next high. It was disgusting. It was derogatory. It was demeaning and inhuman and it hurt like hell, not only for her to physically see his change as she moved through the chambers, but to realize that she was nothing more to him than a cheap means to an end. Everything they had shared - aspirations, dreams, and their bodies alike - rendered into meaningless ideals by his addiction to the testing euphoria. She wondered if she had ever meant anything to him at all.

As the aforementioned end rapidly approached, she knew her usefulness to him was running out - as _she_ had pointed out, Wheatley was no longer receiving his solution euphoria and there was nothing either of them could do to remedy it. He had not been built to handle such an onslaught of data or such a position of power, and as a result, they were rapidly drawing closer to a point where he was likely to kill them. The logical part of her knew what was coming, and inwardly she was preparing herself for it. But despite her best efforts to steel herself against whatever was coming, it did little to actually prepare her for the utter heart-shattering moment of facing him, his grinning image before her on several giant monitors and surrounded by an endless number of large, metal plates with spikes on them. While she did manage to dodge that obstacle, it did not assuage the terror she felt as she was running from him as he actively tried to kill her, throwing around words that were both jovial and savage at the same time.

At several points during her escape from his efforts to kill her, he even kindly asked her to kill herself. Made it sound as if it would be some great heroic act on her part, a genius plan on his. Some part of her almost wanted to, for letting herself get so involved with him during what was perhaps her biggest moment of weakness in her life. That stupid human need for companionship, even for someone as hard-headed as she was often described as being. Part of her wanted to believe that she had no one to blame but herself, but the bigger, more dominant part of her said screw that, she was not going to hold herself responsible for his actions. She was going to make it out of this no matter what.

When she finally made it to his so-called "lair", she stopped short and took in the sight of this crazed stranger - that was what he was to her now, for all that had changed in the interim. He was sitting in the chassis, high off the ground, and even at her distance of several yards away she could see that his movements were more twitchy, more agitated, than they had been even in the testing chambers. He was clearly suffering, even if he did not realize it for himself... and she almost pitied him. Almost.

She had thought before, back during those stolen moments in the abandoned offices and vast hallways of Aperture, when he had lain himself completely bare to her in more ways than one, that she had seen him at his most vulnerable. But she had been wrong. This man before her now -terrified, enraged, desperate as he was - was more vulnerable than the anxious, troubled man she had known before, who had held her close and breathed softly into her hair, who had traced nonsensical patterns into her cooling flesh, who had whispered to her how much he loved her and couldn't wait to live on the surface with her. This thing before her now was not the man who she had allowed to guide her through the deep, dank, and dark bowels of the facility; who she had laughed with and given herself to; who she had made plans with once they got to the surface. Gone was any trace of the man she had grown so fond of. What was left of him before her now was a mad, desperate monster - a dark doppelganger. She simply could not reconcile him with the man she had allowed herself to fall in love with. Or maybe she had been too blind to it before, too desperate herself for some kind of human contact after everything she had been through. She did not know for certain and that made it all hurt even more.

As he swayed before her in his massive chassis, he mocked her, mocked everything she had been through, even mocked her for things that had not been her fault, like how _she_ had crushed him upon her accidental reawakening. Chell had felt broken-hearted for _days _after it had happened, had spent hours agonizing, beating herself up over it, and had never felt a greater moment of joy than seeing him alive and in one piece. He would never know how deeply the entire ordeal had affected her, as his current words were proof of that.

After she managed to get the second core attached to him, his entire demeanor changed and suddenly his eyes wide and red. He was crying, Chell noticed even through all the smoke, neurotoxin, flashing lights, and explosions. He had finally broken down to the point where he was a sobbing mess, albeit still filled with pure, undiluted hatred, a combination which Chell realized made the situation all the more dangerous. She had no choice but to hear what he was saying, to feel his words slice right through her, even as she tried to focus on staying alive.

"Enough!" he roared at her from above, following her every movement, "I told you not to put these cores on me, but you don't listen, do you? Quiet. All the time. Quietly not listening to a word I say. Judging me. Silently. The worst kind. All I wanted to do was make everything better for me! And here you come, thinking that you are better than me! Here you come, trying to take it all away from me, like you think you're _so special_. Like, what, you think what we had between us would change all those things you did to me. Like how you didn't hold me when I unplugged myself from my management system, even after I told you that it could kill me! Or how you sat there and allowed _her_ to crush me. Oh, it's all becoming clear to me now. All you ever did was use me! First to break you out of cryosleep; then to help you find your precious portal gun; then make me fall for you, make me think you actually cared about stupid ol' gullible Wheatley, who believes anything anyone ever told him. Ah! That's another thing. I told you I loved you! And I meant it, really meant it at the time, I'll admit. But you never said it back to me. Didn't even try. All you ever cared about was escaping - didn't care about leaving me behind, did you? All the while you were plotting, scheming with your little potato friend over here, plotting all along to be rid of me. Well, I'm onto you now, luv. Your plotting is all over. It all - ends - _here_."

As he trailed off into more rambling, Chell opened a portal and redirected one of his bombs back at him. He cried out in pain and momentarily went limp for a third time. She quickly attached the third core to him, at which point he woke up and began shouting at her all over again. But this time she was immune - she had already heard the worst from him and so nothing more he said meant anything to her, except to propel her forward.

After the attachment of the last core, this time his ranting was cut off by a cheerful voice informing them that another core transfer was possible. This was her chance to disconnect him, to finally bring some sort of right to the wrong she had made by plugging him in in the first place, even if what had become of their relationship could never be salvaged, not after all he had done and all he had said to her. It tasted almost as bitter on her tongue as her blood did, but still she plowed her way forward, ignoring his commands for her to come back, to not push the button.

She hurried over to the stalemate button, and then her entire world exploded in white hot pain. She was dimly aware that she was flying through the air and landing on the ground with a painful crunch. If she had been able to, she would have cried out in pain. She could feel fresh, searing wounds and could feel the blood running out of her body, her life draining out of her and pooling onto the floor around her, wet and sticky. As she struggled to breathe, struggled to even see straight, she saw the massive chassis towering over her, saw the dark, demented smirk on Wheatley's face as he moved in for the final blow. It took all of her strength to crawl the few feet over to where her portal gun had landed, thankfully not too far away from her and undamaged by the explosion. She was not sure what she would do with it, but it was the only protection she had in these last moments of a desperate situation.

"It's all over, luv," he husked, elated grin on his lips, "Say goodbye to your precious human moon."

Just like that, she looked up just as the sky was opening up and revealing to her her only way out. It was absolutely insane, but it was all she could think of in that moment. Knowing that one or both of them would not make it out of this alive, she took aim and fired...

And then everything was absolute chaos. Debris rushed past her, in a hurry to get to where the vacuum was taking it. As she felt herself being dragged through the portal she had opened up into space, she gasped and grabbed onto the only thing that was still anchored to the room - the chassis that still contained Wheatley. He growled at her to let go of him, to let go so that he could pull himself in, but of course she did not. She only held on tighter. And then _she_ declared that she had already fixed the reactor core and Chell all at once knew what was about to happen.

It was only for a second, during that half a moment where they were still holding onto each other, that Chell saw pure recognition flash through his eyes - everything they had shared together, and the realization of what he had done. It was a perfect moment of perfect clarity, brought about by a most imperfect, disastrous situation. Over the howling wail of wind and debris, she could hear his desperate cries for her to hold onto him, tighter, that he was going to pull them both back in.

But it all came too late. In the very next breath, he was knocked from her grasp, his eyes widening in terror, calling out for her to grab onto him even as it was clearly impossible for her to do so. Still, she reached out for him, knowing it was futile, her hand grabbing at nothing, useless. Her last glimpse of him, one that would follow her around for the rest of her waking and dreaming life, was of him flying away from her, his arms still outstretched to her, calling out to her, as he was consumed by the inky depths of space.

She was pulled back through the portal and dropped haphazardly onto the floor. She heard the portal close with a hum of finality, and all was silent. Faintly, she was aware that the murderous AI she had helped restore to the mainframe was seeing to her wounds, telling her (much to her surprise) that she was glad she was all right. "All right", of course, was a subjective term - nothing about her felt all right. She was certain that, if she survived the surgeries that _she_ was performing on her, nothing would ever be all right again.

The AI, thankfully, withheld mentioning anything about all that had been revealed to her about her relationship with Wheatley. Chell could not tell if it was out of sympathy or apathy (though she was betting on the latter). Whichever, she was glad for it.

Once _she_ was satisfied with her work on restoring her pestilential human subject to relative good heath, she called down the elevator. Chell found herself strangely hesitant as she stood before it, wondering if perhaps this was another trick, but also frozen by the thrill of what would happen once she was out. What was she going to do with herself? For the first time ever, she found herself doubting her ability to carry on, especially after everything that had happened, all that she had lost...

_She_, it seemed, had the answer for her.

"You get up, you brush yourself off, and you do what you do best, aside from destroying everything you come into contact with - you survive."

Chell almost cut her a look of gratitude for telling her what she wasn't even aware she had needed to hear, of reminding her of what she already knew. Instead, she gave her her usual blank gaze, even as sharp, searing pain from the still-throbbing wounds lanced its way through her body.

"Oh," said the AI calmly, but also sounding unimpressed, "You didn't need me, of all people, to tell you that, did you? Well then - just go."

And so she did just that.


	3. Chapter 3

Chell presented as quite the conundrum to the doctors that evaluated and treated her upon her arrival at their hospital. First and foremost, she was extremely lucky to have been found as she was, collapsed on the pavement of a rarely-used rural road at least thirty miles outside of the nearest town. Upon being rushed into the emergency room, they found that she was sunburned, dehydrated, malnourished (despite being just about the most physically fit person that had ever seen), anemic, exhausted, and very alarmingly within inches of death. She was covered in abrasions and bruises, some of which appeared to be have been grievous in nature and in all reality should have killed her. Yet it was the worst of these wounds that appeared to have been handled with the greatest of care, treated and stitched up with such precision it was almost as if the surgeries had been performed by a computer rather than a human.

Once she was out of the danger zone as far as mortality was concerned, they next puzzled over the fact she was mute. While she was able to respond to their questions by miming and it was clear that she could read, she did not in fact know any standard form of sign language and also barely had the ability to write. When asked, she was able to spell out her name, but it was so shaky, so sloppy, they wondered if her name was the only word she knew how to write. She did not provide a last name and seemed to have no recollection of it. She furthermore did not seem to know where she had come from or what had happened to her. They asked her several times, worded in just as many ways, and each of their questions were met with only a small shake of the head, as if she truly could not remember anything.

This, of course, worried the doctors and led them to believe that, on top of her terrible but perfectly-sutured wounds, she had sustained some level of brain damage. They were right. Scans of her brain succeeded in revealing that there was minor-to-moderate damage to both the areas of her brain responsible for speech and memories.. Her vocal chords were similarly atrophied, suggesting that she had either never used her voice or had not used it in a very long time.

The "had not used it in a very long time" theory seemed to be the most plausible after they sampled her blood and found that, while the cells appeared to be young and healthy, they were simultaneously from a genome dating back several thousand years. Incredibly, she was both somewhere between 25-35 years old and thousands of years old. The only plausible explanation for this was that she had been in some form of stasis, a technology which had been eradicated along with a good deal of civilization - not surprisingly at this point - thousands of years ago.

The hospital unfortunately had limited resources with which to do any kind of research on the subject, what with many human records and technologies having disappeared so long ago, but what their small amount of research was able to uncover did not bode well for their unfortunate patient. It was with a great amount of hesitation and sympathy that they informed her that, given their very limited knowledge on the affects that long-term stasis can have on the human body, they feared that it could lead to an increased likelihood of rapid cell death, which would only be exacerbated further as she aged. They emphasized that they could not be certain, but that it was a distinct possibility given the fact that it was already evident that she had suffered some kind of brain damage.

They were admittedly surprised when their patient did not even try to deny their findings. All she did was hold her head up and issue a single nod in solemn understanding, as if she had already accepted her fate and was ready to move on with what remained of her life.

In Chell's mind, she had always known this eventuality, that no matter how far she got away from Aperture, she could never be truly free of it.

* * *

Chell's experience with the world outside of Aperture was as surreal, if not more so, than her time spent in said facility. After having known nothing but how to complete dangerous cube-and-button based tests and taking down homicidal AI's - at least as far back as her tangible memory could take her - she was going to have to learn to fit in with a society that she knew absolutely nothing about. It was going to be a challenge, to say the least, but she decided that after she physically recovered, she was going to face it in the same manner she faced everything else - head-on and without looking back...

Something which turned out to be much easier said than done.

Upon her release from the hospital, her attending physician assigned a social worker to her case, to help oversee her recovery as well as assess and address any kind of emotional trauma she might experience in the meantime. For someone who had just been told that she was most likely going to die sooner rather than later, she seemed to be holding herself together remarkably well. But that was all on the outside - they had never met anyone as stoic and closed-off as Chell, hence the concern.

Still, they wanted to make sure she was recovering well - or as well as anyone could hope. In addition to that, she was going to need learn standard sign language, assistance with finding lodging, getting a job, and carrying herself on as another productive member of society, however haphazardly she had been thrown into it.

Her social worker - Jan - was a moderately-built woman in her early fifties, black hair streaked with peppery gray strands, wore a pair of small reading glasses on a chain around her neck, and was all-around the kindest, most nurturing being Chell had ever met. She was immediately suspicious of this and isolated herself as much as possible - not only from her, but also from any of her fellow human beings. It was strange to think that there had been a time in her recent history where she had craved the presence of another person, and now that she was surrounded by them, she felt suffocated. Jan, of course, noticed this and assured her that it was only normal for her to feel that way, to take all the time she needed to adjust, and to call her right away if she ever had thoughts any darker than wanting to be left alone. Chell agreed, but of course she never followed through with it.

For weeks after settling in, she did nothing but sleep. Even through all the nightmares, night terrors, and night sweats she slept almost continuously for two weeks straight. The image of her partner who had become a monster, smiling that infectious smile of his, taking her hand, guiding her to safety, making her laugh, making love to her, making plans with her... sneering at her, dismissing her, insulting her, trying to murder her... flying away from her, the look of utter terror on his face, disbelieving, calling out to her, reaching for her... disappearing into the everlasting void.

She could not bare to even think of his name, but images of him haunted her day and night, regardless of whether she was awake or not. She refused to acknowledge that she was suffering any kind of emotional distress, much less depression or PTSD, regardless of what her social worker told her or how she tried to help her through it.

The most logical solution for her, being in her current condition, was to sleep and allow her body time to recover. If she could just get enough sleep, have enough time to herself, she knew she could push past this. She told herself it was just because her body had been through so much, that her body had been pushed to all the limits it could possibly be pushed to that she was so tired, but when the near-daily vomiting began, she knew something more was happening to her. Whether it was the cell death the doctors had mentioned or side effects from her exposure to the various gels and toxins that had been laced throughout Aperture she did not know, but it did not seem to matter either way - she was sick all the same. She tried to eat to keep up her strength, as Jan encouraged her to do, but her body seemed keen on not wanting to keep anything down, as if it was struggling to remember what to do with actual, vital sustenance. It certainly kept her appetite to a minimum, at any rate.

This went on for at least another two or three weeks, before the dam gave way and she unexpectedly burst into tears the moment Jan arrived for their scheduled appointment. Surprised, the other woman held Chell as she clung to her, trembling uncontrollably and clutching onto the back of her shirt as if she was holding on for dear life. And perhaps that's what Jan thought she was doing, because she immediately checked her back into the hospital so that they could re-evaluate her.

After some bloodwork, both Chell and her social worker received the shock of their lives when they learned that Chell was not dying, not even close - quite the opposite, in fact. They instead informed Chell that she was seven weeks pregnant.

There was a stunned silence from all parties at first, as they all were no doubt wondering how a millenia-year-old woman with brain damage, who had been found stitched-up and on the brink of death, had become pregnant. They apparently came up with an idea after a short discussion that took place behind closed doors, because when Jan re-entered the room, she began to maneuver her words and questions in a more careful way. Chell was suspicious of this and crossed her arms defensively, at which point Jan flat out asked her if she had been sexually assaulted. Chell did not fully understand the meaning of this, and it took some explaining on the social worker's part to finally get her to understand. All of that and all Chell would do was sign that she was fine and that she could handle this on her own.

It wasn't until she was once again released from the hospital and back in the privacy of her home that she allowed herself wrap her mind around what she had just been told. She was not dying. In fact, her body was healing beautifully, all things considered. No, instead of dying, she was carrying a life inside of her, one that was part of the man who had betrayed her, mocked her, tried to murder her...

She did not know what to do. Despite what she had told her social worker, she had absolutely no idea what she as going to do. A very large part of her screamed at her that she did not want this baby, that she should take Jan up on her suggestion to abort the pregnancy. It made the most logical sense for a number of reasons, not the least of which was that she had no idea about anything about babies and felt next to no maternal instincts whatsoever. Also, she was surprised to realize that, on some level, the thought of giving birth terrified her - her, Chell, the fearless test subject, afraid of having a baby. The thought almost made her laugh, but instead she broke down and cried all over again, only this time she did so in solitude.

What would she do with a baby whose father had been exiled to space, where she had no earthly way of knowing whether he had survived the event or not? And in that respect, what did it matter if he was alive or dead? He had betrayed her, used her, and tried to kill her in the end. Even if he were to somehow come back at that moment and apologize, even if he were to get down on his knees and beg, she knew she could never forget. Forgive, maybe - after all, he was not fully human and therefore had no choice but to surrender to the protocols that had been built into the mainframe. Chell understood this. But no, she could not ever forget what he had done, nor would she ever again forget how he had tried to blame her for all the truths he refused to accept, refused to make the most of and take responsibility for.

The same way she knew she now had her own truths and responsibilities to accept. While Wheatley (she drew in a slow painful breath at thinking of his name) had been wrong about many things, one thing he had been right about was that they would escape the facility together. And they did - in one form or another. However, this baby was _hers_ before it was _his_. It was the first real thing that was truly hers and she was not going to let it go.

She all at once knew what she wanted. It did not matter what the doctors or Jan thought - that she was not strong enough to have a child at this time in her life. Chell knew that she was a survivor. As someone had once reminded her, surviving was what she did best. And Chell knew that, for all her own experiences, the small life growing inside of her would be a survivor too.

They would survive - together.

* * *

**I want to say that this is the end because I originally planned on only three parts/chapters, but I have some thoughts a-brewin' and may add some more onto this. I don't know, we shall see.**

**Either way, thank you again for reading! I hope the ending wasn't completely horrible, but it's what I pictured in my mind. :3  
**

**Also, for those who may be interested, give the song "Running for Home" by Matthew Good a listen - I feel this song encapsulates this fic perfectly.**


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